lion and magnificent taste in color and form in 
the decorations. 
Then in your heart you give thanks to the 
great Giver of All that you are one of the few 
He has allowed to live: to see the sunlight 
sparkle on the water, to feel the sweet summer 
air blowing in your face, and to inhale the 
dear along-the-river-in-the-early-dewy morning 
odors of the beach. It is good to be alive, with 
the Fourth still one day away. Yes! but here 
comes a big motor boat dropping exploding 
cannon-crackers overboard amid much gushing 
of water—this is to insure everybody being 
awake along that club-house shore begosh! so 
we agree it has begun. 
A year after this sees me calling by the 
river way at a shore club-house a short distance 
below the one mentioned, to see a boyhood 
friend—Felix—who after doing the honors of 
the house, let ms know that whatever place on 
earth I thought was my home, it was a long sec¬ 
ond to that humble darn little club-house on the 
beach. 
A chap entered, wearing rubber-soled canvas 
shoes below duck pants, negligee shirt and drill 
hat—-the most common club-shore uniform. On 
iseeing him, quickly I arose, went over and 
shook his hand heartily; then, turning to Felix, 
who showed signs of astonishment, I said: “He 
was one of the two who came down to the 
shore the night of the storm, to invite us to 
the club-house; one of our noble rescuers!” The 
astonishment fades from the phiz of Felix, 
and a look of disgust begins to take its place, 
which—by the time I had finished my speech— 
deepens to the deepest deep of scorn a human 
countenance as good-humored as Felix’s is cap¬ 
able of carrying. 
Turning partly away from the caller—whose 
grin was steadily widening—he glanced him over 
several times from the corners of half-shut eyes, 
then tossed his head with the sniffiest sniff of 
contempt possible to get out on short notice- 
in speaking the voice tones were in strict match 
for the look—he said: “That thing?” 
Another time, running my boat to that club 
landing to enjoy some of the quaint talk of 
blithe Felix, and finding him not there that 
beauty of a September Sunday, after a few 
handshakes, I was about to go; but a cheery 
little t fellow-—a bright, smiling being who had 
taken a shine to me—-spite of high linen and 
rimless crystal lamps, said he could see the 
brother Mike of my Felix approaching in a 
ducker, returning with a companion from perch¬ 
fishing. Years agone, I had, but merely a few 
short times, met the large-sized Mike. Now, as 
the ducker finishes alongside, it seemed right to 
me to say genially: “I don’t suppose you remem¬ 
ber me, Mike, do you?” He never even deigned 
to look my way; slowly unshipping the polished 
boxed oars from the shining brass deck row- 
locks, he laid them—with their companions—on 
the white canvas floor cover of the ducker; 
slowly from the canvas topped rowing seat he 
uprose his long length, got it on the float, and 
then he started it toward the club-house, side- 
swiping me without looking—but he spoke-— 
while on his way: “No, I don’t,” said he. 
Being no club member, perhaps some color 
on my face signalled the state of my uninured 
feelings to several members near, -who had over¬ 
FOREST AND STREAM 
heard and had grin chasers on, but—bless him 
wherever he is—the cheery little fellow was 
shocked to notice it: “Don’t mind him,” he said, 
sympathy in his tone and look. 
“I don't,” I said truly—with face in elegant 
and swell order again—the humor conquering— 
preparing to get aboard my own ship, shaking 
his hand and thus bidding a forever farewell 
to shore-club-land: “You tell this heluva Mike 
from me”—how the cheery one’s eyes sparkled— 
“that I don’t kno-w this Mike either; the Mike 
I remember was a hplf-way decent Mike. He’s 
a Mike-row-cock-eye.” 
A SPECTACLED EIDER DUCK. 
A newspaper despatch from Alaska announces 
that Lord Wm. Percy, the English naturalist and 
specialist on the plumage of wild ducks, recently 
secured in Alaska a spectacled eider duck. It 
appears from the report that a pair of -the birds 
were discovered, and that Lord Percy after care¬ 
fully stalking—crawling for half a mile—-secured 
the -male of the pair. 
The spectacled eider cluck, never an abundant 
species anywhere, has become extraordinarily 
scarce in certain localities, and by some people 
has even been thought to be extinct. It is how¬ 
ever, still abundant in certain regions of Alaska. 
Lord Percy greatly needed the specimen of this 
bird for scientific study, and may be congratulat¬ 
ed on having secured it. 
As already said, Lord Percy has devoted much 
study to the plumage of the ducks, and especially 
to those changes which in many species take 
place after the breeding season is over. The 
371 
subject i-s one of great interest, and not yet well 
understood. Lord Percy is an accomplished na¬ 
turalist, and the results of his work on this sub¬ 
ject will be awaited with great interest by all 
scientific men. 
CEDAR BIRDS AS FLY CATCHERS. 
Woodstock, Vermont, Sept. 7, 1914. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Yesterday, while walking in the rain by a 
small -pond near here, I noticed what at first 
I took to be -swallows flying back and forth 
over th-e pond, as swallows are often seen to 
hawk about over the water. A second glance, 
however, showed that these were not swallows. 
The wing movements were not those of swal¬ 
lows, though the birds flew about and crossed 
each other much as swallows do. A -more care 
fu'l inspection led me to think they were cedai 
wax-wings, though 1 had never seen that species 
act at all in this way. However, a little obser¬ 
vation showed that they were wax-wings, that 
the color was visible at Some distance, and es¬ 
pecially the yellow tip of the tail. Later, some 
of the birds came to a tall hemlock tree close 
to where I stood and alighted in some of . the 
dead branches at the top, where they were read¬ 
ily to be recognized through th-e glasses. 
Passing on, I returned a couple of hours 
later by the same pond, when the rain was fall¬ 
ing much more heavily, and found these birds 
still hawking over the water as before. There 
must have been twenty or thirty of them in 
flight. 
OBSERVER. 
